Dominic's Nemesis
Authors: D. Alyce Domain
Tags: #antihero, #gothic historical, #insanity and madness, #demons possession, #psychic abilites, #angst romance
This book is an original e-Book
self-publication by the credited author, D. Alyce Domain.
This is a work of creative fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this text my
be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled,
reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information
storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented,
without the express written permission of the credited author, D.
Alyce Domain.
Copyright © 2015 by D. Alyce Domain
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9969267-0-6
1st Edition: November 2015
Cover Design by D. Alyce Domain
Photography by User Name: Devist (Adobe
Stock.com)
I would like to acknowledge the unconditional
love and undeserved blessings that I receive from God and his
precious son Jesus Christ. Without his saving grace nothing in
life, not even my life itself would be possible.
I send a special thanks to my very
supportive, very patient parents, Charles and Eunice Domain who
believed in me without fail.
I also thank all my long-time friends and
family who have sent me positive thoughts, without which I would
not have been able to focus and complete my writing goals.
A Book Club’s Reader’s
Guide to Dominic’s Nemesis
Italy (1800s)
He lay on the pit floor, limbs stiff from
lack of movement. The crawl space no longer accommodated his
length. With no light to guide him, he planned each movement to
avoid scraping against the granite. First, he shuffled his legs,
then rolled his shoulders to bring back the circulation. His skin
pulled and itched like the devil. The gouges must be scabbing over,
he thought.
He hadn
’
t tried to stand in a while, but he
knew from the last time that he was almost tall enough to reach the
pit
’
s
lid. Just a little while longer and he
’
d try again. He was preserving
energy and hoping to be healed enough to try jumping. She would
come soon, he knew. For now, the darkness was reassuring. It calmed
his mind. As long as he was alone in the dark, nothing hurt
him.
He didn’t hear her approach. He never did.
Light peeked through the pit’s lid, casting the iron bars in
distorted shadows around him. He trembled and buried his eyes in
the bend of his arm. Panicked, he struggled to shove his gangly,
pubescent body into a crevice between two outcroppings. If he
merged with the granite walls, maybe she wouldn
’
t be able to find
him and do more damage.
“
Come, come, now, little fiend.” Her voice
cast a lure like the nectar of a carnivorous flower.
The boy squeezed his eyelids tight despite
the arm shield. He knew who awaited him above. He squirmed further
into the jagged stone. The taut scabs on his shoulders cracked open
and bled. He did not bother to scream or beg. Nothing ever saved
him from whatever agony she came to inflict. Instead he prayed,
“Help me, God, please. Do not let her see me this time. Hide
me.”
“
Where are you, little fiend?”
He felt her mind rummage around for him
like a blind man groping for his cane. Something new, he thought.
Didn
’
t she know where he was? Couldn’t she see him?
The pit was a scant six-foot cube and she waved the candelabra
close enough so that hot wax splattered atop his forearms.
“
Come here you little fiend!” Her voice
turned shrill. “Give me back what
’
s mine!”
Her ham-fisted attempts to locate him left
him halfway between fear and confusion. Why couldn
’
t she see him? Or
touch him with her mind? By now, he should be frozen, mid-air with
tangled clops of hair his only clothing. Fear ebbed into curiosity.
He dared to lower his arm and peel his lids open. Even with his
head still bowed, the candle-glow forced him to squint.
Here lay the true test, he knew. If his
tormentor really couldn
’
t see him or sense him, she
wouldn
’
t react to his gaze. He
’
d learned long ago to
avert his eyes in her presence. He hadn
’
t glimpsed his tormentor up
close in six years. The boy swallowed the upsurge of fear and
snapped his head back before he lost his nerve.
He blinked several times to sharpen his
vision. He recoiled, scraping the skin at the point of his hip.
Another blink, then he relaxed. Hair. Her obsidian tresses dangled
down between the iron grate, seeming to reach for him. Her face was
contorted from its cloying perfection, but not in reaction…more
from anger or maybe frustration he guessed. He continued to stare,
shocked, not sure what to do. How long would her…blindness or
whatever it was, last? She started to screech obscenities and jab
around with her mind. The violent brush of her mind jerked him from
his stillness. He used the jagged wall behind him to pull himself
upright. Gaunt, with wobbly knees and a hobbled gait, he crept
close enough to fan his hand in front of her eyes.
“
Mama?” His voice sounded croaky from
non-use.
No reaction.
Then, he caught sight of his arm, the arm
that should have been fanning before him. There was only empty
space. With a huff of amazement, he glanced around him. His body
cast no shadow. It was as if he had faded from existence, become
part of the void.
1
Eden had been at the St. James
’
country estate less than a week,
and her cousin Millie had already enticed her to attend a weekend
Hen
party. She tried to
cry off, sighting the strict rules of mourning and her lack of
party spirit. But, Millie insisted that this was her last outing
before the baby, pointing out that she wouldn’t be available to
chaperon for at least five months. Millie did not want her cooped
up with grief for another half-year. Eden did not want Millie to
worry, so she’d given in.
“Why must we have chaperons at an all female
gathering, anyway?” She whispered. The only men present were the
footmen and even they were banished when the party retired to the
upstairs parlor.
“Shhhh!” Millie swatted at her. “The next
game is about to begin.”
The room mirrored the Grecian style, complete
with faux columns, a bust of Caesar and leering satyrs in each
corner. Eden, Millie, and ten other ladies were instructed to
gather around a low table in the center of the room. They sat on
leg-less chairs, flush with the floor. For comfort’s sake, Eden
folded her legs behind her. She guessed that the table and its
bizarre chairs were a temporary addition since it neither matched
nor complemented the room’s theme.
“Ladies, is everyone familiar with ‘Spin the
phallus
’.
” Lady
Haversdale cocked a brow.
Eden listened, as their host explained that
they were to take turns twirling a mosaic glass rod with a pointy
end and a blunt end. When the ‘phallus
’
stopped spinning, the lady on the blunt end of the
rod was allowed to ask whichever lady unlucky enough to be on the
pointy end a question. This, Lady Haversdale explained, was to
allow everyone to become acquainted. The questions started out
harmless, favorite color, and the like. After several turns, the
questions veered into gasp-worthy topics…first kiss, biggest fears,
and with whom one would most like to dance the waltz. Eden
stammered to answer the former of the three.
“
Well I,
eh
…have not been kissed.” She colored scarlet. “Yet.”
Millie poked an elbow in her side. “I know
you
’re
enjoying
yourself. You cannot deny it.”
“This is
scandalous
.” Eden felt a
smile threaten even as she whispered the words. The
risqué
’
element shocked
her out of her doldrums.
The ladies broke off into murmured
conversations as the phallus game ended. Lady Haversdale
’
s niece sat on Eden
’
s other arm. The triplets, buxom
girls each with chocolate eyes and curly hair, sat on the left half
of the table. The red-haired sisters filled out the rest of the
circle.
“I hope you do not take offense. Aunt is very
modern
.” Lady Haversdale
’
s niece was the first besides Millie to address her
outside the games.
“Yes, very.” Eden agreed.
The girl ducked her head. “I just thought I
should warn you, as you are the only one who may be ignorant of her
more eccentric ideas.”
Eden smiled to set her at ease. “Nothing
could be so shocking as sipping from my tea cup only to find it
brimming with sherry.”
“Aunt does not agree with denying herself the
same liberties…and vices…that gentlemen enjoy.”
Eden did not have the chance to respond. Just
then, the room began to darken. She swiveled to see the redheads
dousing the sconces, as their host exited the room. Haversdale
returned with a Grecian wreath encircling her head and her hair
hanging unbridled down her back. Her frock, she’d traded in for a
white billowy gown. Maybe she was aiming for Mother Nature, but she
looked more like Lady Godiva. No wonder the sisters had dimmed the
lights, Eden thought.
The only illumination left was a flickering
candelabrum at the table
’
s center. Her nostrils flared as a piquant aroma
burned her nostrils. The candles must be scented, Eden noted. She
glanced to her right, not sure she was having fun anymore.
“
Millie—
”
Lady Haversdale broke into the circle between
her and Millie, cutting her off. “Ahh, ladies, our final activity
of the evening will be a table turning. If everyone will link hands
and concentrate on the candlelight we can begin.”
The ladies giggled and fumbled around to
comply with their host
’
s
instructions. Eden felt both ladies on either side of her grasp her
hand. Haversdale
’
s
niece, on her left, must have somehow sensed her unease; she gave
her palm a reassuring squeeze. Eden
’
s apprehensions abated a little when she closed her
eyes.
